


Wooing Merle Dixon

by ExplosionOfRationality



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3460046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExplosionOfRationality/pseuds/ExplosionOfRationality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth isn't sure how it happens, but for once she's the one pursuing the other person. She just hopes that her family won't kill him once she finally gets him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Beth Greene doesn't really know that much about men. Sure, she's dated. She's held hands, kissed, even had declarations of love, though they were one-sided, and it definitely wasn't her side. That was all with boys though, not men. She doesn't know the feel of a man's body against her in an intimate way, nor does she know one's heart. And why should she? She's never allowed it, never even really considered it, though that's something else that's definitely one-sided. She's never been in love though. She could never find anyone who drew her in that way before, and now the world has gone crazy; there's no time, even though she thinks that such a beautiful thing could make the dark world a little brighter. But that's what her singing is for. At least, those were her feelings on the matter.

She knows what her daddy is like. She sees the good in him, the faith and devotion, the love. She sees how he tries to put one foot forward, even these days when that's become literal. She watched her brother grow until he died, and now she sees Glenn, how he tries to make her sister happy, even though sometimes that's near impossible to do. She watches Rick, their leader, who makes sure they're all kept safe; she watches Daryl, too, who she trusts just as much with her life as she does Rick.

Beth learns from her new brother what it's like to be in love; she pays close attention when him and Maggie are together, at first because she wanted to be sure her sister was with someone good, now because it brings a smile to her face. She takes care of Rick's baby as if Judith were her own. And once upon a time, she might have had a smidgen of a crush on the man that keeps them all fed. But Glenn, though his love is deeply beautiful, is not the one for her. Rick, though she feels safe with him, even on his 'bad' days, doesn't catch her interest that way; she sees him more as a secondary father figure, no matter what type of relationship she may have with his daughter. And as for Daryl? He's been spending more and more time with both Carol and Rick these days. She isn't sure how that's going to turn out, doesn't even know which gender he's actually interested in, but it isn't her business, so she isn't going to ask. No, it's someone else that's caught her attention.

Merle Dixon is more than twice her age. If she had to guess, she would say that he's slept with double the amount of women compared to the amount of boys she's ever even looked at, too. She once overheard a conversation between Glenn and Maggie about the man having "the clap." If that wasn't enough to believe it, the things he says sometimes are so vulgar, she could hardly tolerate him when he first moved in. If he wasn't Daryl's brother, she wouldn't have bothered. The odd thing is though, perhaps because of her age, he never says anything about her. He'll make rude comments about Karen, make the occasional joke about Maggie, ask to join Andrea and Michonne (Beth's not sure what's going on with them either, and she definitely isn't going to ask), and tease Daryl about Carol. But not one single word about her. He barely even glances at her, and it's starting to drive her crazy. She can't stand being treated like a child, not with how much she's had to go through. Not since the world lost itself.

After noticing this, she pays closer attention to him. He talks to the children, thankfully not the same way as he does with the adults. She even overhears him giving Patrick advice on 'manning up.' Daryl's standing next to her, listening in as well, and shakes his head. 

"You know somethin's wrong with that kid if even my brother is tryin' to help him out."

Daryl walks off after that, leaving her alone to observe the man quietly while he shows Patrick how to clean a gun--until he notices her. In truth, he's known she was there for a while, waiting for her to actually approach him. Patience only goes so far though, and his is limited. 

"You want somethin', Barbie, or are you starin' on account of mah good looks?"

She had never honestly paid attention to his appearance other than his hand; it's kind of hard not to notice the metal piece attached to his arm. She had asked her brother-in-law about it once, her curiosity getting the best of her. The thought behind it had been that if he had survived being bitten, if he was like her daddy, maybe their chances of survival were higher than they thought. Instead of hope though, she got a shamed-face Korean.

His lack of a hand and horrible looking contraption aside, his other looks are. . . definitely not her normal type. He's by far better looking than the boy he's sitting with though, in her opinion, and this sets off a list of men she would rank before and after him inside of her head. The 'before' section is much shorter than she figured it would be, now that she's actually looking at him, and it takes her by surprise. Even before realizing this though, after he spoke she was so embarrassed by being caught staring by him of all people, her face started to heat up as if she was actually looking at him for the reason he accused her of. Not wanting to tell him the real reason she was watching him--she doesn't want to offend him--she says the first thing that she can think of.

"I was wondering if you would teach me how to do that."

She pointedly looks at the weapons sitting on the table, hoping that he'll take it as her asking him advice because of his experience. Never mind that by growing up with her daddy, even though they didn't hunt together often, she already knows how to clean a gun. By the stare down he's giving her, he doesn't believe her. She starts to panic, beginning to wonder if this isn't the first time he's noticed her eyes on him. After a moment though, he makes a sound to himself, something similar to "huh," and he nods to the now empty seat in front of him; she hadn't noticed Patrick vanishing while they were looking at each other.

She takes a deep breath before sitting.


	2. Chapter 2

Merle has never been one to shy away from anything. He figured out at an early age that he wasn't going to be given anything in life; if he wanted something, he had to take or earn it. (The 'earn' portion came from his days doing odd jobs around their small town and then from his soldier days, short as they were.) This philosopy or reasoning, whatever it could be called, applied to nearly everything he lived for. If he wanted food, he hunted it. If he saw something he wanted, he got it. If he saw a woman he was interested in, he didn't hesitate to make a move on her.

These days though, there are rules. He isn't afraid of anyone, but he also understands that there are doors even he can't walk through, shouldn't even try to. If people even knew about some of the things running through his head, he would be kicked out of the prison, whether his baby brother was okay with it or not. This is why he keeps his mouth shut around the Greene girl, no matter how tempting it is to comment on how appealing he finds her. Even though she's not a child, he seems to be the only person looking at her that way, so it's obvious to him not to do any literal looking. Even now with her just learning a thing or two about guns from him, Mouse and the China-man (Korean) are both watching him like a hawk. It brings him amusement, makes him want to bend the rules just a little bit. Just as much as he can get away with.

He bends his head over his task, coming closer to her head; she was already bending down, actually listetning to him unlike his previous student. He doesn't believe for one second that she's really trying to do what she says. He's caught her watching him all week, worse than even the Mouse. He's pegged her as trying to weasel out of him whether he's really 'with' them or not. For the moment though, he's going to humor her that he believes she came to him because he has the most experience fighting. It's good for his ego that she took an interest either way; no one but Daryl really tries to interact with him. He's pretty sure all he was doing earlier was scaring Patrick. Not her though. She's watching his fingers quick at work.

"This one here, this is the best piece I got. It's saved mah ass on more than one occasion."

He holds the gun by the barrel, knowing damn well that it's not loaded; the only judgement he would trust would be his own, and he loaded and unloaded the thing himself, not letting anyone else treat it. She takes it by the handle to look it over. He watches her as she inspects it closely, trying to figure out what's so special about it. He chuckles at her.

"You can't see the magic, blondie. 's on the inside." He taps it with one finger; he's watching her closely to catch any flinches she may make about his hand being so close to her own. She doesn't though, and he makes sure to brush his fingers over her's as he takes it back. "You got a special piece?"

She asks if he means a gun and then shakes her head before he can answer. He sits his own back down on the table and straightens up, stretching his back out. He can hear it pop, feel the tension in it, brought on more by stress than his age. 

Looking at the smooth skin of her face, seeing the light and innocence still in her blue-green eyes, not yet worn off by the new world, does nothing to remind him of how old he's becoming. It causes the opposite, making him feel alive with an excitement he hasn't felt in a while. He wonders what that makes him. There are other broads to look at, some of them damn fine. His Nubian queen, Karen, Andrea, who he thinks he might actually have a chance with. But who he finds most appealing isn't someone with experience, his normal type, but is this 'little girl,' as he would call her. He figures that if it's the end of the world, maybe he finally deserves to have something nice for himself, though he knows he could never actually have her. Always one to touch the flames though, he considers it for a moment.

He laughs at himself, knowing she'll either take it as him laughing at her, or think he's even crazier than what she and everyone else in the place already does. Her face heats up, letting him know which way she took it. He can work with that. 

"Here, darlin'." He holsters what he's labled as his favorite and then gestures to what's left. "I wan' you ta pick one. I'll even teach ya how to use it."

Perhaps overhearing their conversation, or maybe just allowing it for as long as she can tolerate it (really, he hopes that his brother isn't with this one, because she's such a stick in the mud), Mouse interrupts, saying that she'll teach Barbie instead. He watches the blonde with a scowl, watches as she looks between the two of them trying to figure out what her best option is. He's almost insulted that it's taking her as long as what it is, but at the same time he wants to laugh again, because if she's honestly considering Mouse over him, she isn't as bright as Merle had thought. She would fit his type more then; dumb as a rock. Deciding he's had enough fun for the day anyway, always keeping Daryl in the back of his mind now, he's about to tell her that that would be a fine idea, but-

"Thank you, Carol, but I want Merle to teach me."


	3. Chapter 3

"Beth, I don't think that that's the best idea." Carol glances at Merle, weighing her words carefully. "There are plenty of other people who can teach you. I'm sure Merle-" She glances at him and then looks back to Beth, not because she's uncomfortable by his eyes pouring into her own, but because she's trying to silently convey to the girl how much of a bad idea what she's choosing is; he's impressed because there aren't many people who can handle his stare. "is too busy going on runs to-"

He expects the farmer's daughter to give in. His oldest, Maggie, is tough; resilient. This one though? She looks to him like a flower, waiting to be stepped on and have its petals crushed. Not even plucked, because the girl looks about as far away from having sex as possible, but crushed. By the outside world and everything and everyone in it. She's as bad as off as that other one, Patrick; worse even because the sadness hasn't fully reached her eyes yet. When this one, he thinks, is finally broken, it may be fatal. She has the scars on her wrists to prove it. Whenever another crushing blow hits, she may choose life, or she may try to choose death again; he's heard of her little fit, of her episode, of her trying to die before the real shit hit the fan. Hell, it's almost enough to make him insist on teaching her. Almost. His baby brother can grab her and come with when he's kicked out of their new "home" for talking to her longer than two minutes. They can find a cabin somewhere, teach her how to hunt, survive on their own without-

He stops himself right there. It's not impossible. Sometimes he's realistic, sometimes he's not. It's not impossible though. But it's not possible either.

Sometimes Merle Dixon doesn't know why he does the things he does. He's usually good at reading people, but he doesn't know why she does what she does either.

"But he offered to teach me."

She sounds pleasant enough, as if there isn't a problem here when it's clear to everyone what's going on. Mouse is looking between the two of them, trying to find a way to get Beth to change her mind without saying something to offend him. Going by what she told him of her husband-a disgusting man, he recalls-she's used to tense situations similar to this. He doesn't pity her; he knows that there's nothing he can say that'll make her crawl out of her skin. Despite himself, he's impressed by this one. She can handle herself, and, even rarer, anything he says. Maybe she wouldn't be so bad with his brother after all.

But that doesn't make them friends, either. Tired of the conversation, he decides to make it come to an end with a smile-one of the ones that isn't meant to charm women but to make men uneasy. After all, it wouldn't be any fun if it were easy.

"That I did."

Beth returns his smile, not realizing what he's doing. Of course, now he's stuck with her; maybe she's clever enough to figure him out a bit-only as much as he'll let her. They could be friends, he reckons. At least he'll finally have someone to show him gratitude. If her daddy has a problem with it, he can come talk to him about it.

\--

It's about ten in the morning when Glenn pulls her aside to talk to her. It's obvious by his alarmed expression what it's about before he says anything. She's touched, in a way, that he's so concered for her. It's what she would expect from a brother. Still, before he can get a word out, she holds her head up, looks him in the eyes, and tells him that she's not a child; she can take care of herself; that what she's doing will only improve upon that.

"Not against him. He's-" He takes a deep breath and considers what he's going to say to her; he doesn't want to be crude. "He's different; he's not one of us. And he says things that are. . ."

"Dirty?" She cut him off. He nods and confirms that that's what he meant, not explaining that what Merle Dixon speaks of isn't something her ears are used to, that she can handle. She continues speaking before he can elaborate though. "Look, I know that. Everybody knows that. But he doesn't say anythin' to me, and if he does, I'll tell. I'll go runnin' straight to Daddy and Rick."

She isn't sure she means it, but she can see him relenting, so she promises when he asks her to.

"Besides, I think you're wrong. I think he could be one of us."

She knows that he doesn't believe it. That he wouldn't have believed it even if what had happened with Maggie had gone down differently. He doesn't say as much though-at least not to her. She knows that this is part of the reason they all think of her as a child, because they consider her head stuck in the clouds. This is why he doesn't bother to refute her. When he says that he hopes she's right, for her sake and Daryl's, it's clear to her that he doesn't mean it.

"I am."

She smiles and nods and plays the part of the oblivious.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's taking so long to update. It's been a rough few weeks. A relative passed away, we had to move, and then my computer decided to crash. I can't get it fixed, so I have to use my husband's, which means my children hover over me while I write. How embarrassing.

He can feel eyes on them as they practice. They're out by the gate. He would prefer to be up in the guard tower, liking the advantage of the height, but it would likely cause an uproar if he took her somewhere private. Or they would assign a chaperone, and he isn't in the mood for Officer Friendly, Mouse, or whoever else would brave hovering over him. He wouldn't mind Hershel, he thinks, but the idea of seeing the man make it up the stairs . . . hell, that would probably be the funniest thing he's seen all week.

Merle Dixon does not consider himself to be a good person.

His gaze drifts over to Beth for the fourth time since they've been shooting the walkers piling up on the other side of the gate, approximately twelve minutes out now, and he wonders once again what it is she thinks of him. It's common knowledge that she was raised on a farm. If she's considering him a mustang she can break in, she's got another thing coming. Of course, there's another way all together to interpret that thought, he realizes immediately after thinking it, but that's not likely either, especially with big sis and Korean watching them from the side-lines. Even the boy has come out to make sure he doesn't carry her off into the wilderness of ladyhood. He doesn't think he's her type anyway. A bit too old for her, isn't he? 

"I did it!"

She turns to him, excited to have shot her first walker in the head. It only took fifteen minutes of his time, less than he would have guessed for her, but he figures that it was more of a fluke than anything. Unless she's gone hunting with her daddy and didn't want to fess up to it for some reason? No, that couldn't be. Just luck, something he doesn't have. They share pride in themselves though, if that's all that they have in common; she's almost giddy.

When she throws her arms around him, it takes him by surprise more than anything and he laughs. He hasn't been embraced by a woman in a while, and while it's alluring, it also brings him amusement, both at the tensing of the others and by her. He's starting to actually like this little girl. It's a good thing it's him training her, because in his opinion she doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of surviving otherwise. He pats Beth on the back a few times until blondie lets him go, hearing big sis's scalding. It probably has something to do with the smirk he had been giving Glenn.

"Sorry, Mr. Dixon."

Chastised doesn't fit her well. He nods and tells her that it's alright. If she noticed the "sugar" at the end, she doesn't acknowledge it.

"Try it again."

They stay out there until it starts to get dark, and then they head in for dinner. They split up at the entrance to the dining area, her saying her thanks and him simply nodding again. She heads over to help with the cooking--string beans make up the main course; maybe he should have gone on a run and saved the shooting for tomorrow?--and he makes his way over to the table that his brother is sitting at. The Dixons usually sit by themselves. He knows that it wasn't always that way for Daryl, that people avoid sitting with them because he's there. It occurs to him that if he's around Beth for long enough, they may start shunning her, too. He sees her daddy making his way over to him though, and he knows that he's wrong.

He briefly wonders if he's about to receive a death threat, or a talk about proper conduct with young ladies, but Hershel seems amiable enough when he reaches them. He can see why his baby brother likes the guy; he's like a father figure they never had, one that Daryl would appreciate and that he would refuse until the day he died. They're a lot different in some ways, him and his little brother.

"So, how'd she do?"

Hershel sits down at their table, and Merle finds that he doesn't mind as much as he thought he would have. The old man seems to be out of breath; today isn't one of his best days. It makes the older Dixon relent in a way. He can sense by his brother's subtle movements that he sees it too; Hershel Greene is feeling his age. He knows that Daryl's studying him, trying to observe whether or not he's going to be an asshole. Well, best not to leave him guessing; Darylina gets cranky when he's not had anything to eat.

"Alright. She got a few good shots in. 'Nother day or two, she'll have it down."

Gratitude is an odd thing for him to accept. He got it on occasion from the Governor, but it was always see-through. The man was as thankful as a slug would've been if you salted it. These people though, they meant it (if they accepted your help to begin with, that is). He understands Rick's position. You let these people lean on you enough, they begin to expect it. He's their leader because they're all depending on him to do the things that they can't bring themselves to do. Merle can relate, always the one doing the dirty job. The guard dog. He isn't agreeing that he has a place here, but if he did, that would be it. And that type of place doesn't fit with getting to be friends with naïve young women conversing with their daddy about how well they're doing. Of course, on the flip side, he could look at it as he's become one of the group's main protectors. He likes that one more; it has a better ring to it.

Hershel sits with them for a while; the more time that passes, the more Merle accepts it. Chatting with him starts to feel natural. He thinks that maybe he's actually managed to make a friend. His brother seems to approve, and Daryl isn't one to be bothered by others while he's eating. And by the time the food is ready, Beth makes her way over to them as well, bringing her father's plate with her.

For the second time that day, Merle is happily surprised. It's an odd feeling being accepted by someone, even though he's being glared at by Korean, Hershel's other offspring, and Mouse is shooting them suspicious looks when she's not playing with Officer Friendly's daughter. He's made his brother happy as well, it seems; it's odd seeing Daryl engage people in civilized conversation.

Too bad none of it is going to last, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My oldest daughter's cat had kittens a little while back, and the one that I've christened Merle decided to escape from its room and join me while I wrote this.


	5. Chapter 5

"New movies."

There's a group of them sitting around discussing things from the Old World that they miss. It's not something that he would normally entertain--gone is gone--but he's got nothing better to do, and occasionally the need to socialize hits even him. He would be with Daryl, but he saw his brother trek off through the woods earlier that day, and though he would've gone with him, he understands the need to be alone at times; they're birds of a feather sometimes, him and his little brother. Sure, Daryl's mighty different from him, but it's like a flipped coin. His "unpleasant" side, the side like himself, is just in hiding. The snark, the skill, and the story will exist no matter how domesticated being with Officer Friendly has made him.

Merle doesn't know that his brother isn't alone, that Carol is out on the run with him to keep him company.

He can feel Beth's eyes looking to him every so often. She isn't very subtle even though he's sure she thinks so, and he can see the expression on her face from the corner of his eye. She's trying to figure out something about him. Why everyone thinks he's so bad, maybe; he had behaved himself during their little lesson. He laughs to himself, attracting a few other stares that he ignores. They're all waiting for him to crack. Let them sit on the edge of their seat. Let them worry. He could be slinging daises, and they'd still think he was trying to slit their throat while they sleep. What does he care?

Andrea's sitting next to him, making comments to him about their priorities. He doesn't remember her being this bitter, passes it off to her sister dying. He doesn't mind listening to the others, but he doesn't mind listening to her either. He doesn't realize that they're friends until just then, and that thought leads to others. He doesn't act on it though, doesn't suggest it like he normally would, and that in itself is odd. Perhaps later, after Beth's done singing; a little music does the soul good.

He had stayed in the first place to listen to her, but that dot never connected. 

"What about you then, blondie? What do ya miss?"

She looks taken aback for a moment, her mouth opening--and he would be damned if he didn't look at it--and asking if he meant her. It strikes him as odd for a moment before he pieces together that she's surprised because she has this whole "group seclusion" thing going on. She doesn't realize she's no different from the rest of them, she's not a true outcast like him. Maybe that's why she chooses him as company? Damn; he was thinking it was his good looks. She could also be pretending to be offended that he'd ask her when she's acting like the others are being stupid; women are for pretending, after all. A woman's not got to act mysterious to catch his attention, but they don't seem to understand that. 

She thinks to herself for a moment, really considering his question. No one else is paying any attention to their conversation, save Beth who can't actually hear them, so she doesn't bother lowering her voice--if she even would. He doesn't know her all too well. Maybe that's why he's expecting something trivial, maybe something of conveniece, but not her answer.

"My vibrator." 

She doesn't seem to mind when he laughs or throws his arm over her shoulder, allowing it. He'd be surprised if he could bother to be. He isn't one for social ques for most of the time, not one for keeping to himself when he doesn't feel like it. The only person he really watches himself with is staring at him like a fish out of water, which gets another laugh out of him. And when people turn to look at him this time, he gives even less of a damn.

"Well, what's your's then? Your one thing?"

Her body is slightly turned in his direction. That's how you tell whether or not a broad really wants to talk to you; if she turns to you. If she's sitting straight, you've not got much of a chance.

People actually are listening to them now, curious about him the way that they'd be curious about seeing a tornado. He's flattered in a way. Women aren't the only ones who enjoy a little mystery.

"I don't need nothin', darlin'. 'Cept maybe a good beer every now and then."

He can tell that they're losing interest save Barbie and Officer Friendly, who is obviously sizing him up. You can tell a lot by what a man wants the most at the end of the world. And the blonde? He still hasn't quite figured her out yet. He's trying though. He'll get it by their next lesson, he's sure.

"Come on, you can have beer at any time. There's gotta be something."

He takes his arm off of her to rub at his chin, humoring her. Part of him is honestly thinking about it, the other part is considering leaving them guessing. He likes this though, likes having attention on him. It boosts his ego and makes him feel good in a way that he isn't quite used to.

"Alrighty. . ." She's hanging on to every word. It's the part of his brain that isn't thinking too hard on it that comes up with his answer though. "Workin' on a farm."

It hadn't been for long, sometime after his soldier days and before the world went to hell. He had been doing odd jobs for most of his life--when he had a job, that is--but that had been his favorite. Wasn't a thing in the world like riding a horse.

Hershel, who had been sitting at the table next to theirs the whole time, pats him on the knee. Andrea has a look of panic for a second, probably wondering whether or not the old man had heard her response. Her face is turning red, and Merle almost smirks at her. He's more interested in the look on Beth's face though; it's one he can't decieper yet.

"Me too, son." 

He's too old to be called "son," but just this once he doesn't mind.


	6. Chapter 6

"Did you really work on a farm?"

Despite not knowing her that well at all, he had expected this. It wasn't like they had talked to each other that much during their first lesson. Why would this one be any different? Maybe because she had realized that he wasn't going to coil up and viper her. Or maybe her curiosity was getting the best of her; he could see it in those blue, blue eyes. His brother's eyes held such a gaze when he was younger. It just reminds him of how much of a kid she really still is. At the same time though, she's something else. He can sense it, like a superior officer sizing up his recruits. Not that he had ever made it that high in rank, but he was far more superior than those assholes had been.

Merle Dixon can hold more bitterness in him than any bottle of alcohol.

"For a time." He nods, more to himself than to her, though he can tell from the corner of his eye that she's watching him intently. "Was good at it, too. Heardin' cattle, tending to the livestock. Even shot myself a few wild dogs in the chicken pen once. A bonafied farm boy." He holds up where his hand once was, and her gaze goes to it. "Wouldn't be too good at it now though, I reckon. Takes a lot of work to tend to a farm."

She knows that, obviously, but she chooses not to remind him. If he had to guess, he would say she's too busy thinking about his situation to consider her own. A broad who doesn't want to talk all about herself. Who would've figured? He plays a betting game in his mind on whether or not she'll ask him about it. She doesn't disappoint. 

"How did it happen?"

He's sure she's heard some mangled version of it, probably from the in-law. He thinks about messing with her, about giving her some tall-tale anyway, see if she'll believe his story more than whatever she's been told. He doesn't though. He chalks it up in a lack of interest. Normally he would take the opprotunity, but his mind has been on different matters lately. The Governor is still out there gunning for them, for example. And the shirt she's wearing gives a nice view of her shoulders. Not the most exciting aspect, but if you're going to appreciate a woman's beauty, you appreciate all of her, and this little lady doesn't show much else, to him or to anyone else, far as he knows, so it makes the appreciation that much sweeter. As long as he doesn't get caught looking. Then it's a noose for him.

"Got stuck somewhere a mightly unpleasant. Had ta cut it off."

If she knows why it happened, who caused it, she chooses not to comment on it. He can see her nod to herself, and it makes him wonder how many other mannerisms they have in common. Her curiosity is still there. She wants to say something, he can see it without even fully looking at her. Just like he can see that she's about to let whatever it is go. He doesn't like that; her thought gone, possibly forever, floating away. It's always now or never, life or death, these days. So he pushes her for it.

"Go on, ask whatever yer wantin' to know. Can't hurt nothin'."

He could hurt her. That thought is always there, no matter who he's with, other than Daryl. He could hurt her. He could hurt him. It's a reminder, in case he needs to. Has to. If it comes down between the two of him, him and this soft little girl, he could snap her neck. 

Her hair is up today. It brushes against her neck as she talks. He likes it better down, but it's a distraction all the same, one he forces himself not to look at.

The difference between them is that, far as he knows, she doesn't think the same way he does about people, not yet. She feels safe with him. Sure, Officer Friendly is in the tower on look out, can shoot him down at any moment, but he can tell by her guard; at least part of her thinks that she's safe with him. That he won't do anything to her, and probably that if anything should happen, he'll keep her safe. It angers him in a way. You can't count on anyone, and that's exactly what this little Barbie doll is doing, thinking that he would protect her. He doesn't even know her.

"--Mr. Dixon? I asked if you were alright."

He glances at her, surprised though he doesn't show it; it cools his anger. Sometimes his thoughts just take him away like that. He blames all of the bar fights he had been in pre-dead, all of the times his father would knock him around. He's taken a many hits to the head his life. 

"Sorry, darlin'. What were you sayin'?"

Now he turns to her; it's the first time he's faced her since they've been in the yard. She's a cute thing, though that's not normally a word he'd used to describe a woman. She is, after all, of proper age for... For him to get shot over her. She's almost worth it though, if he could know she'd not run screaming. Almost. Sometimes. Sometimes it's easier for him to control his thoughts. But right now isn't one of those times. The wind is blowing her angel hair too much, she's paying too much attention to him, too much genuine interest, looking at him too deeply. He swallows; it really has been a while. His eyes stayed glued to her open face though.

"I asked if we could go in."

He's disappointed, but he doesn't allow himself to be angered by it. He hadn't really expected anything from her, after all. But that isn't true and he knows it. He had thought that they were beginning to become friends. He feels disgusted. How could she ever--

"Somewhere where they're not all watchin' us? I'd like to know more than how ta shoot, but I think they might have a problem with you teachin' me how to fight."

He laughs after realizing what she means. This little girl is definitely a surprise, maybe a blessing in disguise. He doesn't think that he's had a thrill like this in years other than fighting and getting high, both things that have a hangover. To hell with the others. They'll leave them guessing.

"Come on, girly."


End file.
